Thursday, May 19, 2011

Sometimes I still pinch myself because I don't believe it's real. We drove into Sevilla with the windows down pointing out all the ladies in their elaborate and gorgeous trajes, polkadots and fish-tails and large bright flowers on top of their heads. We changed into dresses and skirts, painted our lips red and bright pink and donned heavy, oversized earrings. Walking the streets we followed the crowd of decked out Spaniards in ruffles and rainbow colours, some passing us on horse back and others on carriages. We sat in a private caseta, drinking rebujitos and watching everyone from little girls to old ladies dance the Sevillana.

Life continues to feel like it's been cut straight out of a movie, the good kind, the ones that don't go straight to the shelves. And I keep thinking at some point I'll wake up and it'll all be some dream that was too good to be true. So I pinch myself sometimes just to make sure.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Portugal went like this. An old renovated beach house, Guns & Roses soundtrack, catching navajas, barnacles, oysters and muscles, first time catching a wave, playing checkers with pebbles, watching skin turn from brown to black, driving from beach to beach in search of the best waves, letting the dog out to run in front of the car, lessons in 'the life of a surfer', feeding an ostrich on the side of the road, standing on the cliffs above beaches and falling in love with the real sand and the crashing waves so much we confused Portugal with Australia. We ate like kings, slept like babies and forgot that life was anything but beach time.